The old man sat on his boat paddling slowly. He was at a good distance now from the shore where no one would see. There was something nice about being out there on the boat, he was always drawn to the ocean, where all those reminders were gone. It was still blue, perhaps a little tainted over the years and did not thrive as much as it once did, but it had revitalized itself, unlike the land and the people who had been there as long as he had. The water was the only thing that hadn’t changed since he was a teenager, before it happened and he lost everything.
He pulled out a white staff, about a foot long, and unfolded the wings of the Dandelion. There were 6 all together that at full length sat perpendicular to the base, then 4 that sat above them, and 1 in the center.
It was hard to stand, but Robert still managed nonetheless. He may be old, but his mind and his will seemed to support him in any endeavor. These days endeavors included standing.
He was pleased with his innovation, and balanced it on his palm, flicking one of the wings with his finger to make it start to spin slowly. For the final touch, he blew on it gently and thought of his message, his warning. The Dandelion lifted from his palm and started to drift out to sea, a gentle whistle traveling with it. “That should do it,” Robert said with a smile to himself. He could only hope the message would go through. There was no way to test the device, only to put it use, in the hope that it would change the past. A silly idea, really.
In another time on the same sea, a much younger Robert sat on a dock beside the naval base of Pearl Harbor, pole in the water. He ran his fingers through his hair, he was getting anxious. He needed to catch some dinner for the evening and his luck had been poor so far, and now he knew he also needed a haircut. The depression that had hit the country, including his home in Honolulu, created a shortage of, well, everything. But the sea never disappointed – except for that day. Even the bait that he designed himself to lore fish in was not working as it usually did. The sun was setting and the water still, but the fish seemed to be sleeping despite the dinner bell. It was keeping him later than usual, it better be worth it, Robert thought to himself.
A soft whistle made him turn his head. The tune sounded familiar, an old lullaby. He squinted into the distance and saw something white coming towards him. It drifted unevenly, turning in the wind like a dandelion, and it even looked like a white dandelion, only more mechanical. It spun sideways, over the rail of the dock, settling on the boards next to him. The whistle changed from a melody to a steady beat and it seemed to glow blue. Robert reached down to pick it up, his curiosity peaked.
A voice came from the device, it sounded similar to his own, only it was much more matured. Perhaps more broken, too.
Leave the shore,
beware the sea,
it carries weapons
of a destructive variety.
Move your sisters,
and your brother,
they had no chance
you can give them another.
Robert’s gut moved him from his seat. He returned home without a meal, but a purpose in his heart and a strange device in his hands.
The following day, December 7th 1941, Robert and his family watched from afar as planes came in, destroying the nearby base at Pearl Harbor, and their home. All that was left was a nest of debris.
Daily Prompt: Nest